Tricky Business Read Free Page B

idea what they were doing. There was much wandering from cubicle to cubicle, long meetings about designing the website, and a lot of talk about stock options. He never saw anybody do anything that seemed like actual work.
    Except for Amanda. She was working all the time, many nights late, sometimes really late. He asked her what was going on, and she said a lot of things, and he asked her what kind of things, and she said complicated business financial stuff that she was too tired to talk about. He said he thought Recker was taking advantage of her, and she got mad and said she wanted to be part of this, this was important, this was going to be big, and Wally should be grateful to be part of a company run by somebody like Tommy, because he had vision.
    And Wally thought, Tommy?
    One night, out of loneliness, Wally went to a bar where his ex-bandmates were playing. Wally was pleased to note that the guitar player they’d replaced him with wasn’t particularly good.
    During the breaks, his old bandmates sat at his table and gave him a hard time about being a corporate sellout. He gave them a hard time about being stoner bar-band losers. Two breaks and some beers later, he told them what was going on with Amanda. They listened sympathetically—these were Wally’s oldest and best friends—then assured him that Amanda’s new boss was definitely porking her. Wally understood that they were just busting his balls. But when he left the bar, he drove to the Recker International offices.
    He let himself in with his security card and closed the door quietly. It was dark in the lobby and in the main cubicle area. Recker’s office door was closed; there was light shining through the bottom crack. Wally could hear talking in there, then silence for a while, then more talking. He decided the talking was a good sign. He thought about leaving, but instead went to a corner cubicle and sat down. He was there almost an hour, not really thinking about anything, suspended in a pure state of waiting.
    Finally, Recker’s office door opened. Amanda walked out, holding her purse. Recker was behind her. They were both fully dressed. Recker was holding some papers.
    They’d been working.
    â€œThanks for tonight,” Recker said. “See you tomorrow.”
    â€œOK,” said Amanda.
    â€œI’m afraid it’s gonna be another long one,” Recker said. “We got that stupid brokerage thing to deal with.”
    â€œI’ll be here,” said Amanda, and turned toward the lobby.
    She was working late on financial stuff, just like she said, you jealous moron. You faithless jerk. You don’t deserve her.
    Wally shrunk down in the chair, praying they wouldn’t notice him, off in the corner, in the dark. Amanda took a few steps.
    â€œHey, Mandy,” said Recker.
    She stopped. Wally’s heart stopped.
    â€œCome here,” said Recker.
    And she turned and went to him, and in a second they were locked together, mouth on mouth, and Wally knew this was not the first time. Recker reached down and pulled Amanda’s skirt up over her hips, and she moaned. Wally moaned, too, but they didn’t hear him, as they slid to the floor, groping each other frantically. Nor did they see Wally stand up, take a step toward them, then turn and walk out of the office, eyes burning, trying to get his mind around the fact that he had no fiancée, and no job, and nowhere to live.
    A few hours later, he showed up at his mom’s house, the house he grew up in, with all his stuff, which wasn’t much, piled randomly into his Sentra. It was still dark, but his mom was up already.
    â€œMom,” he said, “I need to stay here for a while.”
    His mom looked at him for a moment.
    â€œI’ll make you some waffles,” she said.
    Â 
    ARNOLD PULLMAN, AGE 83, LOOKED OUT THE BIG dining-room window in the Beaux Arts Senior Living Center, which Arnold always referred to as the Old Farts